


It's a hard life

by PrimeJive



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Infidelity, Marriage, Multi, Semi-Public Sex, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-09-30 17:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeJive/pseuds/PrimeJive
Summary: It's a hard life when you can't accept what you really feel. Even harder if, as the time passes, you realise how you messed all your life up.This is a story about two men struggling with their own feelings and trying to mend the shattered pieces of their relationship.





	1. Trying to mend the broken pieces

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks to Val and Adri, my lovely and faithful betas.  
> I'm not a native English speaker, so I'm deeply sorry if there is any grammar mistake in my writing. 
> 
> Thanks to all the beautiful people in this fandom, specially to my sweet and funny ladies and gentlemen from Maylor Discord server. A special mention to WingsWinger, Myessa and Mary for encouraging me as I tried to get this fic out.  
> Thanks to the wonderful Sara (unlovelySara) too.
> 
> Now, I'm not following strictly the facts as they historically ocurred in Roger Taylor's or any of the character's lives. This is entirely fiction, so, I hope you can enjoy it!

** Chapter I: Trying to mend the broken pieces **

**_July 1983._ **

**_Kensington and Chelsea_**  

Alone in his house, with his elbows on the living room’s main table and his heart tired and throbbing in a cage, he thinks that it’s been a while since the last time they’ve met each other.

 _He could at least have called, that wanker_ , Roger thinks with anger, and immediately, an inner, tiny, annoying voice reminds him that he could have called him too actually. But, with more vanity than truth, he convinces himself that Brian was the one and only responsible for those almost two years of absence and shadows.

It was his fault.

It’s been always his fault, Roger repeats to himself, like some sort of mantra, like a sort of spell that could release him from all the guilt, the frustration, from all the bad decisions that he had made in his life, along with Brian.

And there he goes again: Brian. Always Brian.

As Roger tries to erase from his head that bloody, useless spell that only seems to increase his anger, the doorbell rings and, suddenly, an abyss opens in his chest. He lifts up his head and looks up the clock. Five o’clock. That twat, always on time, not even a minute earlier or later.

As he makes his way through the stupidly enormous living room (seriously, what on Earth were Dom and him thinking when designed this house?), he can recognise through the main window a dark, curly and long mass of hair floating over the bushes.

It could be a flying poodle. It really could be, indeed. A space flying poodle. But no. That would be ridiculously impossible (but funny, nonetheless). This one was his poodle. Or at least, used to be his. A big, troublesome, nerdy, coward, runaway poodle that has been glued to him since 1968.

Roger releases a deep sigh, full of anxiety and fear, and opens the door as if he would open the Pandora’s box… once again.

“Mr May”, says in a voice tone that tries to be chilly, but ends up sounding like the reproach of an upsetted teenage girl.

There he is, thinks to himself. That big for nothing human poodle, looking annoyingly good in that white synthetic leather jacket and those skinny jeans. And no clogs, that fashion nonsense that never has failed in making Roger’s eyes bleed from horror. Thank God, it’s the 80’s and Brian is using normal shoes, not those damned clogs. Roger always thought that clogs only look good on a cute, little Dutch girl playing around a windmill, not on a rock star. But somehow, that poodle nailed it during the ’70s.

Stupid, twat, cute human poodle.

“Hi, Taylor”, Brian replies, trying to act cool and composed, but failing terribly during the process. He’s carrying two fancy and well-wrapped packets under his left arm while his right-hand scratches his neck. He attempts to smile, but fortunately, Roger speaks before Brian’s poor and lame “I’m-totally-ok-mate” act starts to embarrass them both.

“Come in, mate”, Roger says, internally cursing himself when he realises that his anger is lowering, as it always happened every time he sees the lost puppy reaction that Brian has after a fight. After their kind of apocalyptical fights. It’s frustrating as hell that, after so many bloody years, Brian’s stupid and guilty half smile is still kryptonite to him.

“Dom and Felix? I brought them presents”, Brian says as he enters the living room, with his eyes dancing from here to there, as he recalls the memories of his last time in that place. Memories that, after almost two years, flood through his mind with bittersweet cadence, like a drowse on a rainy day’s afternoon.

 _No, not this time_ , he repeats to himself.

 _Not again, May. Don´t be a daft cow again. Don’t fuck things up again, Brian Harold May_ , says to himself internally, being more and more conscious of that knot growing in his throat. He leaves the presents over the kitchen’s table, wondering why he missed Felix that much and why he genuinely likes Dominique, that woman who always had the courage to give Roger what he needed.

Courage. That word never appeared in Brian’s scrabble.

“Dom and Felix went to the mall”, Roger explains as he leads their way to the kitchen. “Basically, we need to tire his little arse off. That kid has so much energy that is impossible to take him to bed at night, for Christ’s sake”, says with a smile, while starts to pour some tea. “We barely can watch the telly together with Dom nowadays, not to mention anything beyond that”, laughs, and suddenly, a deeper, bright but, above it all, honest and painful laugh joins his. He turns around and sees Brian, leaning against the door frame.

“That’s what toddlers do, Rog, but I know the feeling. Thank God Jimmy is five now and he’s giving us some air…” Brian frowns his eyebrows, letting go a defeated sigh “Well, honestly, he gives us a LITTLE more air…”

Brian and Roger stare at each other for a second and can’t contain the laugh. It seems like yesterday when they used to talk about how to make it big with Queen, and now they’re two middle-aged men who talk about how marvellous and troublesome it is to have a toddler around the house and in your life. Roger leaves the kettle on the kitchen’s table and looks into Brian’s eyes, finding that the lovely, big human poodle can’t hide his anxiety, tapping the door frame with his long, slim fingers.

And then, Roger feels it. That warm, nostalgic, bittersweet feeling that had lingered with him since the moment Brian became his utopical land, his Shangri-La. And again, like in some sort of wicked loop, he discovers, once more, that it is futile. He can’t hold any grudge against that man, no matter how hard he tries and how much he could have hurt him.

Behind that eccentric hair, those enigmatic hazel eyes and that stoic face, there is a child. A wounded child that never could cope with his very own true feelings, becoming a foreigner in his own body, heart and soul. A child in a grown-up man costume that could never reach and take Roger’s devotion because it was too overwhelming to handle it.

 

_But, please, you must forgive me. I’m old, but still a child._

 

There he is, then.

His frightened, clumsy, runaway, adorable, loved human poodle.

Roger closes the distance between them with trembling but steady steps towards Brian, and with an arm, pulls him for a hug. Brian, instinctively, pulls him even closer, cautiously putting his arm on Roger’s upper back.

“Missed you, wanker”, Roger whispers in Brian’s neck, as a melancholic smile starts to appear on his face.

“I-I- I’m so sorry, Rog, I didn’t---” Brian tries to say, batting fast his lashes to shake off the hot tears that, insolently, want to make their way out.

“Shut up, Bri. Just shut up”, Roger begs, clenching one of his fists on Brian’s back.

 

_It's the sad-eyed goodbye_

_Yesterday's moments I remember_

_It's the bleak street, week kneed partings I recall._

Words are poisonous, he thinks.

Words screwed up everything between them, always did. Words are useless when the feelings are so abominably overwhelming. Words are knives if you can’t even handle what is in your mind, in your heart, in your soul.

Words had haunted Roger for so long that he has decided to cast them aside this time.

And Brian understands. He gets it. For bloody once, he got it right.

Words had never fixed the pain they caused to each other. Instead, the silent language of their trembling bodies and the wild, anxious pace of their hearts, beating one next to the other, could mend the broken pieces and build up a fresh new start for them both.

Could be that this time the silence would be able to save them from themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But, please, you must forgive me. I'm old but still a child"  
> A verse from All dead, all dead, by Brian May, from album News of the World.
> 
> "It's the sad eyed goodbye  
> Yesterday's moments I remember  
> It's the bleak street, week kneed partings I recall."
> 
> Verses from Drowse, by Roger Taylor, from album A day at the races.


	2. Waiting for something to fall from the skies I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! This is me, updating a month later. Shame on me, I know.  
> Big thanks to Myessa, Adri and Val for being AMAZING betas.  
> And of course, thanks to all this beautiful fandom.

**_Kensington and Chelsea_ **

**_July 1983_ **

Orbital resonance. That is what comes into Brian’s mind during that hug that seems the longest and warmest that they both had in years.

Orbital resonance is a simple concept, yet so marvellous. It is how astronomers call the phenomenon of two planets or celestial bodies exerting gravity influence over one another, as they both orbit around one parent body. A concrete example would be this: for every two orbits Pluto makes around the Sun, Neptune makes three. It is indeed a very basic concept for anyone who's slightly interested in astrophysics, but for Brian, that phenomenon is beyond space: it could perfectly describe his relationship with Roger.

For every move Brian had ever made, Roger made two. They could have never been a  _ thing _ , always orbiting next to each other, but never together. They've been orbiting around the band, life, wives, kids, issues… It slowly became an endless resonating loop, a tiresome, deadly one. Brian would often sigh while thinking what would have been best for them: being like Neptune and Pluto or being two dead and doomed stars dancing around each other, madly and careless, inside a lost dark hole.

It cringes his nerves when, secretly, he admits that he would have preferred the second option.

“Come on, sit. We have some shit to talk about” Roger says, breaking gently their hug. He sits on a chair and pours tea “Have a cuppa”.

“Thank you.” Brian takes the cup but doesn’t feel like drinking it right now. Instead, he does feel like watching Roger pouring “one and three-sevenths spoons” of sugar in his tea (actually, it was one and a half spoon, the “three sevenths” was Rog’s way to trolling Freddie and roadies). He can’t help staring at the way his old friend looks down into his cuppa, only to find out that some things never change. The way Rog swings the spoon (three times to his right and one to his left), how his lips pout while he frowns at the same time, tasting the first sip of tea, and how his eyes blink while he puts his cup down make Brian think that those little gestures are what we treasure most about the people we love. Those tiny moments are fragments of eternity. It’s what makes our beloved ones immortals in our memory.

Brian thinks and overthinks and dives in his own thoughts without realizing that he’s been staring at Roger a little bit  _ too much _ .

“Bri, mate. Are you all right?”, Roger says, worried. Brian startles.

“Yes, why do you ask?”, he mumbles, not very convincingly.

“Well, maybe because I had to repeat the same question thrice during the past bloody minute, you knobhead! Do you want brownies or scones?” Roger laughs, but suddenly his expression changes to a more concerned one “Oh, for fuck’s sake… don’t tell me you’re on Depakote again. I swear that---”

“No, no… I mean, no about the Depakote thing. And I prefer scones, thank you” Brian quickly responds as he sees the untrusting gaze that Roger gives him “I’m not on Depakote, really, Rog. It’s just… I mean… All of this is a bit… Don’t get me wrong. I just… “he says hesitantly, rubbing a long index finger around his cup.

_ For Christ’s sake, Brian Harold May. Why don’t you just shut the fuck up,  _ he scolds to himself.

Now he just needs to find the words to erase that uncomfortable expression from Roger’s face. Brian feels himself falling into the same old, breathtaking hole that always sucked him in. Why is it so painfully hard to find the right thing to say when it comes to his very own feelings? How can he be so confident and eloquent on those eternal essays about celestial bodies, but when he must talk to a terrestrial one, a beautiful, complex and amazing terrestrial body like Roger’s, he simply lacks the words?

“I know, I know…” Roger gruffly says while he puts the kettle on the table and changes his tone to softer, almost compassionate one. “But… How many times had we worked it out, Brian?” Roger sighs loudly and tiredly as he looks up the ceiling, trying to find the words, waiting for them as if they would fall from the skies at any minute, opening their way through the roof of his ridiculously big house just to land on his tongue.

A piercing silence surrounds them. Then Roger, once again, understands that is all up to him. As always.

“You won’t answer, so I’ll do it. A million times, Bri. We worked it out a million, zillion times. But I truly think, and for fuck’s sake I’m talking raw here, that this time we can work it out for good.”

“Why are you so confident, Rog?”

“Because we spent…” Roger looks at his watch consciously “…almost five bloody minutes without throwing ourselves on each other after being apart for a fucking long time” Roger smirks, then changes his voice to another, pretty familiar for them both “Should I call the Guinness people, darling? I really think I should, gorgeous, since it is a one in a lifetime event, can tell you that...”

Brian can’t help it and laughs loudly, giving some soft slams at the table as Roger joins him.

“Hey, watch out! My superb tea is on the table. It’s not something that deserves to be wasted, like your crappy tea” Roger says, trying to stop the table from shaking.

“Fuck, mate! For a moment there I thought you were Fred! But I must say that my tea is not that horrible, thank you very much”, Brian says with faked arrogance.

“We could say that your tea is horrible if someone would be able to taste it. Since is a biohazard, nobody can, so I conclude that your tea is a chemical weapon” Roger says as he brings the scones to the table “And for the record, I do a very convincing impersonation of Freddie, actually. I could be the charm of any Bat Mitzvah, you know.”

Brian smiles, thinking that Roger’s humour had never failed at snapping a smile from him. But, on second thoughts, he knows that Roger’s way to turn everything serious into something funny, ridiculous or laughable, had always been his method of dealing with things he couldn’t face. That was always his  _ Deux ex machina  _ to get away from pain and regret.

The ridiculous Guinness act was just a farce to keep his mouth shut. To stop Brian from messing things up again. Silences are dangerous. Roger knows that. And Brian appreciates that Rog, even now, after so many years, still knows how to save his troublemaker arse.

Considerably more relaxed than before, he starts drinking his tea. Roger finds then the moment to get serious, for once, and go directly to the reason why they decided to meet today.

“So, soon we’ll be back at the studio again. I’ve been talking to Deacy and Fred. They have a few ideas that look promising, you know. Nothing like that gay, cheap sound from  _ Hot Space _ ” Roger growls while lighting a cig just in the middle of his tea.

“How could you…” Brian mumbles, watching with half-closed eyes at Roger.

“Record  _ Hot Space _ ? Yeah, I didn’t understand how either…”

“No, bugger! I mean how can you always drink or eat and also smoke at the same time, for God’s sake!”, Brian bursts, shaking his head.

“Oh, please, don’t be a pain in the arse! I need you to focus here, you poodle!”, Roger dismisses his friend’s words “I admit that  _ Under Pressure _ was gold, but I don’t feel like any other song of that album was really  _ us _ , you know? I really need this album to be  _ us _ . And I can’t come up with the slightest, miserable hint of an idea to work on it. It’s killing me.”

Roger releases a deep, frustrated sigh and frowns, looking into Brian’s eyes.

“Mate, you didn’t bring your guitar. How are we supposed to come up with any ideas?” he asks.

“Well, about that… I have bad and good news. Which one do you want to hear first?” Brian smirks and grabs a scone.

“Bad news first, I guess…” Roger mumbles, arching an eyebrow. Damn it, now what, for God’s sake?

“Well… I have no ideas for this album and we’re going to record on next month. I’m quite a genius, you see” Brian explains, sarcasm all over his words.

Roger fakes a muted and surprised ‘Oh’ with his lips and takes a smoke.

“And the good news?”, asks quickly.

“The good news is that although I don’t have even one bloody idea, neither do you, so that makes us both losers. We should be grateful, my friend”, Brian resolves and takes a bite of his scone.

“Did you notice that the bad news is almost the same as the good ones, May?” Roger asks, choking a laugh.

“In fact, they’re the same, but from different perspectives. You see, in the end, I truly am a genius, Taylor” he chuckles, winking an eye.

Roger laughs and shakes his head. Of course, they were two losers, they’ve always been. No matter how many people would think of them as rock stars, they were still two big twats that could hardly handle their own personal lives. As an adult and as a husband, Roger was a fine musician. That is an elegant way to say that he  _ sucked _ big time as an adult and a husband. Music was the only thing in his life that he could do without fucking up at least once. And maybe parenthood. That was also going surprisingly... No. Suspiciously well. It was kind of a mystery for him how good he turned out to be as a father (Dominique would fully agree on that too).

“So, where do we start?” he asks almost in a whisper, playing with his now empty cup, eyes lost and tired.

“From the beginning, Rog. All from the beginning. Again”, Brian answers. For the first time in his coward and messy life, he has something to light up his path. Their path.

And for once, his words are right. Maybe all the gods are on his side today because he found the magical, mystical words on this warm afternoon and in this very living room, which was a witness of how he had screwed everything up almost two years ago.

Roger is aware that this so-called "beginning" is not only about music. Indeed, they do need a fresh restart.

A new beginning, because the old one had happened a long, long time ago, and had been beautifully tragic.


	3. Waiting for something to fall from the skies II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! This is me, updating a month later. Shame on me, I know.  
> Big thanks to Myessa, Adri and Val for being AMAZING betas.  
> And of course, thanks to all this beautiful fandom.

**_London_ **

**_July 1973_ **

Roger Meddows Taylor was a male, therefore, he would never be able to experience giving birth. But after almost two years of recording and another one waiting for some bloody record company to publish their first record, just to end up publishing it themselves, he concluded that it was pretty much like giving birth. Hours of labor, no dilatation and finally, having no other option than getting surgery to pull out the baby. That’s what Roger romantically conceived as an exquisite metaphor to describe how _Queen_ got to see the light.

Sometimes, his bandmates would be scandalized at how he came up with this sinister and highly questionable metaphors.

Freddie was, indeed, more poetic and functional (just a little more, let's not be carried away). He called all their struggles to get their first album “their epic crusade to their Holy Grail” (a bit overdramatic, but the atmosphere of _My fairy king_ still lingered with him, with the flying horses and everything else), so he decided to throw a massive party at a rented flat. Of course, Trident was paying for it, and it was going to be only for two days: one for the party, one for cleaning up the mess. That last part of the deal was kind of lame… It was a reminder that they hadn’t reached the Rockstar status (no bloody Rockstar cleans up his mess after a party himself, for Christ’s sake, Roger thought), but at least they weren’t paying for the place. That should be enough.

The night of the party came, and they were euphoric. Alcohol was everywhere, and Roger was feeling like _Alice in Wonderland_ , or in a more accurate description, he was sort of a bootlegged version of Lewis Carroll's masterpiece, something like Roggie in Boozeland. The flat was infested with musicians, friends, cute girls and mischievous women. They barely knew half of their guests but didn’t mind it: the juiciest part of all this was meeting new people, making contacts and screw willing ladies who would hear the phrase “I’m in the band” and would lose their knickers immediately, like if it was a kind of magic spell. “Darling, you look stunning tonight!” Freddie shouted while walking across the entire room, lifting his plastic, cheap cup and being followed by an amused Mary, who seemed to enjoy the alcoholic state of her man.

“Thank you, Fred, and I appreciate your enthusiasm about my outfit, but, you know, it is like… I don’t know, the hundredth time you’re telling me this? I’m starting to think that you really fancy me, mate”, Roger said playfully, a little bit dizzy because of the drinks he’d already had.

“Oh, please, dear. Having this beauty beside me, I can’t have eyes for a grumpy, long-haired ferret as you” Freddie said and gently grabbed Mary’s waist, who smiled at him “But, for a ferret, you look fabulous in that blouse and those unbelievable tight pants. You’re the sensation of the entire zoo, darling!”

Roger burst in laughs, and Freddie and Mary laughed as well. It was something that he’d never admit, but he missed living with Fred. He had that energy that could light up an entire room or burn it down, according to his mood. Roger was sure that, if it weren’t because of Fred, they wouldn’t have done it: the band, their first record, everything they’d accomplished so far. Freddie knew what strings to pull to take Roger, Brian and John to their highest level. He couldn’t explain it, but Freddie was like an adrenaline boost, and since he joined him and Brian, things had simply started to fall in the right places. It hadn’t been easy, but as time passed, Roger had started to see the big picture and that’s how he _knew_ Freddie was _something else_.

Now Freddie was with Mary, and Roger was glad: they seemed to share something unique and special, magical even. Something beyond anyone’s comprehension and Roger enjoyed seeing them together. Secretly, he longed for that kind of relationship. Tucked away behind everything, he was also afraid of that sort of relationship. Stupidly, he used to deny all of this to himself.

“Hey, listen. We have a problem, sweetheart. Well, I think we have two, actually”, Freddie said, overly dramatic, and Mary rolled her eyes while taking off the liquor from Fred's hand.

“For God’s sake, Fred! It’s not a tragedy. Rog, Chrissie couldn’t make it tonight. something came up at her house, so Brian has been on the rooftop all this time doing who knows what... I mean, Queen isn’t exactly known for its functional members…” she eyed at Freddie, who was staring absorbedly at his black nails “But it would be quite weird if Brian doesn’t show up at all.”

Roger nodded. Mary was right.

“Ok, leave that to me, I’ll bring the poodle back to the party, don’t worry about it. But what is the other problem?” Roger asked confused, trying to see what on Earth were those things piled on the table behind Freddie.

“The other problem is over there”, Freddie whispered and pointed at the other side of the room, with something on his right hand that Roger couldn’t figure out what the hell it was.

He followed Freddie’s pointing finger and saw it. Deacy was being harassed by a bunch of women who, apparently, were all talking at the same time about a million different topics. John could hardly respond to any of them, his back glued to the wall, both hands clutching a plastic glass and eyes screaming _“Please, Lord, have mercy on my soul”_.

“Oh, fuck. Poor Deacy” Roger said, choking a laugh. It was indeed a hilarious scene “But I don’t think it is a bad situation for him, Fred. I mean, he may get a leg over tonight, the lucky bastard…”

“Roger Meddows Taylor! You know what this is?” Freddie had finally taken the mysterious thing from the table and was now showing it to him. Roger tried to figure out what the curled dough-thing was but had no success at it.

“That is… some… biscuit? Fred, you brought biscuits for our bloody rock party? Really?” He said gruffly, rolling his eyes.

“This, my dearest but ignorant friend, is a cinnamon roll. This is too cute, too pure for this world. It is the gastronomic personification of our John. We can’t leave him with those corrupted women!” Freddie revealed, dramatically.

Roger shook his head. Oh, dear. Fred indeed was something else. But although he hated to admit it, he had to agree with his friend on this one. Deacy was a softy, he probably wasn’t having a good time over there, and those women seemed terrifying, even to Roger, who would undoubtedly shag Morgan le Fay if had the chance.

“Mary, Fred, I can handle Bri. You two rescue John.” Roger sighed. Thank God Mary was there. Freddie was wasted enough to compare John to a pastry.

Damn it. It was the party he’d been waiting for so long and now, instead of getting hammered with a nice bird, he was only a bit tipsy, going to the rooftop to bring back Brian’s arse to the flat.

As he was walking through the room towards the door, some guys greeted him way too effusively and three or two boozed women threw themselves at him, but he managed to get away from all the giggling and babbling. They were all drunk and high enough they could hardly understand even a simple English sentence.

Before leaving, Roger took a full bottle of Möet and crossed the door with it. It was _his_ night, and God knew he was going to get his arse drunk on the rooftop if necessary.

Brian was there indeed, laying on the rooftop floor, stargazing. There were six empty beer bottles at his side, and when Roger closed the door, he barely moved his head to see the human being who dared interrupt his hermit activities.

“Oh, it’s you” Brian cooed, with an absent-minded smile.

“Oh, it’s me, Bri. Sorry for interrupting your stargazing, but, you know, there’s a party right down the stairs. A party for us, that includes you. But since you are not coming down, everyone is freaking the hell out asking where you are” Roger said playfully, coming closer to his mate.

“Let me guess. ‘Everyone’ is Freddie, right?” Brian asked, his eyes still busy in the polluted London sky.

Roger was now standing up beside him. He looked at Brian frowning and, trying to open the Möet, nodded.

“Well, yes. Freddie is frantic, probably because of the booze and some other unknown substance that he didn’t share with me. That wanker” Roger finished his sentence with the successful uncorking of the Möet that catapulted the bottle cap towards the skies.

“Wow… That was like the launch of Apollo 11” Brian murmured and, for once, turned his face to look at Roger.

“Could you be a little less nerd when we’re trying to get wasted, thank you very much?” Roger laughed and sat beside his friend, starting to drink the champagne. Brian let out a calm sigh.

“This has nothing to do with Chrissie” he mumbled, as his eyes seemed to follow subtle lines of a drawing in the sky that only he was able to see.

“I didn’t mention her” Roger said in a tone that sounded like a complain as if he were annoyed by his friend’s ability to see through him.

“Oh, but you were going to. And she is not the reason why I am here.”

“Then why are you here, dumbass?” Roger asked and took another long sip from the Möet.

“I can’t stand those people, you know. They're so nosy… It’s the only thing I hate about being in a rock band” Brian confessed.

Roger sighed, tilting a little his head towards his melancholic friend and drank more champagne. Brian, his good, nerd and annoyingly rational Brian. How many years had it been? Five, almost six? It seemed like a lifetime since they’d been together, since they’d been friends.

After he got into Smile, it became utterly natural to be closer and closer to him. It was odd at first because, beyond music, there was nothing that connected them in any way. Brian was a composed young man, a little too serious for a lad in his early twenties and he would tend to compulsively overanalyze everything and everybody. Roger usually thought that it would be a living hell to live even only an hour in his friend’s mind. It was probably a maze, an apocalyptic one, with long hallways that would end up in a Schrödinger box without a cat (Brian wouldn’t allow keeping a cat in a box, that was out of the question) but with choices locked in there, options that would lead you to another hallway and eventually, you would find yourself trapped in a stupid and overly rational maze. One that, paradoxically, would take you to a state of madness. That was Roger’s conclusion after an acid trip, but thinking about it in a sober state afterwards, he concluded that it probably wasn’t all that far from the truth.

Still, even if he couldn’t understand how his mate would drown himself in his own thoughts, he _could_ understand him as a musician and as a human being. It was more than fair enough to say that they complemented each other. If Brian’s mind was an excessively rational maze, Roger’s mind was a kindergarten, with some kids kicking the teacher’s ankles and others throwing glue into some little girls’ hair. So, the stubborn and quiet brunet gave him the discipline he desperately needed (though he wouldn't admit it), and Roger gave him some fresh air to remind him that he was still young and that it was all right to just do things without thinking about it twice, or thrice.

“You’re thinking too much again, lad”, Roger said, leaving the bottle beside him and lying down. Brian laughed, almost soothingly, making his whole body shake briefly and childishly, not noticing that Roger’s gaze was upon him. It was weird, but whenever Brian did something like that, something that could show his deep sweetness and kindness, Roger would just feel mesmerized. It was a little awkward, and for fuck’s sake, he knew it was strange, but couldn’t help it. There was this gravitational force that seemed to attract them strongly at moments like this and he couldn’t stop it.

Gravitational force? Great. Now he was thinking like him.

“I don’t know if I’m thinking too much, but I do know I have not even the slightest interest in going down there. At least for a while” Brian smirked and looked at Roger, whose face was close to him “Of course, I would really appreciate the company of a lovely yet grumpy ferret here on the rooftop.”

“I’m not a bloody ferret! Why do all of you think of me like one?” Roger whined, following the joke in his lightheadedness.

“Oh, look at you, Roggie. Fluffy and golden hair, tiny, raspy voice. You are cute as a ferret, truth be told” Brian choked a laugh as he saw the faked displeased expression on Roger’s face.

“Well, then. I’ll tell you what kind of animal you are. A penguin! A silly bird who can’t fly but… walks funny and…and seems to wear a tuxedo” Roger huffed, being totally conscious that he always called him a poodle and, who bloody knows why he had just changed to ‘penguin’. A penguin had nothing to do with Brian, but apparently that was the first thing that came to his wasted mind.

“Thank you, Rog. I really like penguins. I find them pretty amusing, you see, and it is quite refreshing that you didn’t say poodle.” Brian was enjoying the company. Roger was like an angry child who couldn’t win at his favourite game. “I also think that when Freddie sings, he looks like an otter that tasted lemon and didn’t like it, if it makes you less bitter about being called a ferret.”

There was a brief silence in which both men looked into each other’s eyes before bursting loudly into laughing, recreating in their minds the powerful image of an otter displeased at the acid lemon flavour and Freddie singing.

“You are the worst, May.” Roger tried to say with the little air left in his lungs after laughing so hard. “Then… then what animal would John be?”

“That’s easy peasy. A bunny, a white and adorable one. Too cute, too pure”, Brian sighed with a smile.

“But bunnies fuck. Like… a lot. And they breed like mad. Deacy doesn’t” Roger remarked, concerned, giving too much relevance to their drunken chat about animals and friends.

“Oh, he will. Sooner or later. He´s a bunny, he will eventually get to that”, Brian stated, then chuckled.

Suddenly, Roger didn’t feel like going back to the party anymore. Being with Brian had always been so much fun and, at the same time, so relaxing. Now they both were stargazing, in complete silence, and Roger thought that it was the best night he had had in weeks, maybe months. He felt at peace and he knew for sure that Brian was feeling the same way because his breathing was soft and slow. They were so close to each other that Roger could even feel his mate’s subtle moves in every breath he took.

The night felt like it was made pure and exclusively for them, and Roger felt like he could now understand why Brian had always been so smitten with the sight of the only hint that humanity has of the universe: the night skies. The stars, the moon and other things that Roger couldn’t see but could certainly feel, had an aura of eternity that it was an almost impossible task to take his eyes off that unmeasurable mystery.  This perception was a sensation eerily similar to what Roger felt every time Brian would drag him to these moments of solitude and quietness. Moments that Roger knew he couldn’t share with anybody else, nobody but him.

“Hey, Bri… Do you really think they like to rock in space?”, Roger cooed.

“Well… I don’t know”, Brian said without taking his eyes off the moon.

“What do you know about the space then, wanker?” Roger softly laughed.

“Oh, some other things that are way too complex for your comprehension, my little ferret friend”, Brian giggled, provoking him.

“You penguin-poodle son of a-----” Roger blurted out and jumped on Brian. Then everything turned amazingly childish.

 

They started clumsily wrestle between laughs and faked growls: the booze was now up in their heads, making everything blurry, dumb and ridiculous. Unnoticed by either of them, they started rolling all over the floor and, oh, little ferret Roger met the Möet bottle, which fell on him. It spilled some of the champagne left in there, making his hair and face wet. Brian then stopped and put the bottle aside. The liquid was all over Roger’s face like he was the sacrifice of an ancient ritual, a pagan baptism that could open the doors for him to a yet to be discovered mystery. Deliciously abstracted from any mysticism, feeling the champagne and the summer breeze in a more terrestrial and ordinary way, Roger was laughing and coughing at the same time, too dizzy to notice that something had been unleashed in his friend with the fall of that alcoholic rain, now running down his face and neck.

Brian looked down into his friend’s eyes, all watery and smiley, and felt odd but at the same time, he could sense a part of him _clicking_ deep inside. It was like a vision of everything at once, an unbearable knowledge of a truth that he had buried a long time ago, too afraid to let it show, yet too precious to let go. It was his very own secret, which he hadn't realized he had until that night, until that very moment. Until the champagne made his mate’s heavenly face glisten with a wet gleam, eclipsing the stars above them.

Roger saw Brian’s cryptic, unreadable face and his laughter started vanishing. A pair of hazel eyes were watching him as if it were the first time they met. That feeling of comfort that always surrounded them when they were alone was no longer there. Instead, as if an incense would be falling from nowhere, a dense but sweet heat seemed to fill the whole rooftop, the whole night. Having Brian so close to him, with his dark locks barely touching Roger’s face, made him defenceless. But, far from feeling threatened, he could sense something that had nothing to do with fear or anything remotely similar. Was it dangerous? Of course, it was. Brian was so close that it was terribly alarming: he could see the almost invisible wrinkles in the corner of his lips, undoubtedly _male_ lips, but even so, they had become strangely desirable and he could only blame the Möet. The sensation was getting painfully intense and Roger could no longer deny that strong and unmistakable warm tingle in his cock. He was undoubtedly aroused.

 

_Fuck._

Brian lifted his right hand and took away a blond, wet lock from Roger’s lips, then caressed them with his thumb, fascinated at how soft and mushy that mouth felt. Roger let go a soft moan that broke Brian’s trance, and a great shame came over him, but not as great as his growing and insolent erection.

 

“Bri… I… I’m not Chrissie…” Roger mumbled with his pupils dilated from all the desire and the unspeakable fear that comes with being at the edge of crossing a forbidden frontier.

“I know, Rog. I know” Brian whispered, unable to take his eyes off those mesmerizing lips “Can I… just---”

“Don’t fucking ask” Roger murmured with a tremble on his voice. He wrapped with his hands around Brian’s neck and everything went blank.

 

Roger took the lead and the kiss was shocking at first. There was no lipstick, they weren’t ladies' lips, yet they were soft and strong at the same time, and the way Brian incisively slipped his tongue in his mouth, made him let out a gasped moan that was more like a growl. He grabbed strongly at Brian’s hair and fought for dominance in his mouth, while he could feel two cold hands scratching softly below his waist. It was instinctive: Roger raised his hips and his throbbing bulge found Brian’s crotch, hard as a rock and intimidatingly huge. The touch made Brian moan, breaking the kiss and they looked at each other for a brief moment.

 

“Wha—What?” Roger cooed, not caring for anything besides Brian and the odious feeling of desire inside his body.

“You… you taste like Möet” Brian whispered, almost näive, coming closer again to Roger’s mouth.

They rubbed his noses and smirked, childishly, like two kids in the middle of monkey business.

“Then drink me, May” Roger gasped, any remote feeling of shame now long gone.

 

That was it.

 

Brian, against all expectations, didn’t think twice. Savagely, he licked up the few drops of champagne rolling down Roger’s neck. There were sweat and alcohol there, but more arousing than that was his mate’s scent. Yes, _his mate_. His lad. He was rabidly devouring his best friend and nothing, not a single thing about it felt wrong. It felt like coming home after a long, tiresome journey.

 

It just _felt right._

Roger felt on the ninth cloud. When Brian started kissing his neck, his hands went down to unzip his friend’s jeans. He moaned in Roger’s ear at the first touch on his crotch and caressed firmly his arm, giving tacit consent to move forward. Roger then released his friend’s cock and gasped when he touched the skin.

“Fuck… It’s huge” Roger mumbled, amazed. His hand seemed small beside Brian’s dick and a mix of intimidation and curiosity made him touch it with more intention, wrapping it softly around his fingers.

“So- sorry…” Brian moaned, feeling shy suddenly. Roger’s touch on his cock felt like electricity and, for God’s sake, the brunet was trying with all his strength not to lose control.

 

“Don’t _sorry_ me!” Roger laughed almost in a whisper. He released Brian’s cock and, with his index finger, caressed it from its base to the top. It was dripping precum already.

Maybe Roger could blame all of this to the alcohol or whatever, but the truth was that the sight of Brian’s dripping dick shivering by his touch was adding more fuel to his desire. And yes, perhaps he was going to regret it later, but the insanely urge to go beyond and to find pleasure was too much to handle for his intoxicated mind.

Roger didn’t think twice. As always.

“Hey, wanna see mine?” Roger cooed with a playfully mischievous gaze.

Brian nodded his head, unable to speak or to do any other sound besides the low moans provoked by the touch of Roger. If he were sober, nothing like this could have ever happened. But he was drunk enough to consider watching his friend’s erecting cock. His neural connections were too numbed-down to question the whole scenario.

“Then come and get it”, Roger smirked, squeezing suddenly and briefly on Brian’s dick.

Brian moaned, feeling once again that electricity mixed with the dizziness in his head.

Roger was challenging him like he always did. He was daring him to take a step forward. Brian knew that game far too well by now and Roger had no idea of how badly his quiet mate wanted to play that night. Brian’s right hand went down to find Roger’s crotch and when he did, Brian could feel how he pressed his hips purposely against the palm of his hand. His impatience turned him on more and with an unexpected ability for a drunk man, he unzipped Roger’s jeans and pressed the bulge against his boxer’s fabric. He could feel the shape of Roger’s dick and the soft whine that came from the blonde’s mouth pushed Brian to smoothly lower the already wet pants. Although the moonlight allowed him to see the cherubic face of his mate, Brian couldn’t really see what he had just released from there. But, oh, he could feel it. It was warm, thick, and the size was enough to fill his hand. His slim fingers started to explore tenderly Roger’s member while he looked into his baby-blue eyes, trying to figure out which spots made his pupils dilate because of the pleasure he was giving him with his touch.

“Bri…” Roger managed to say between soft moans. He raised his right hand and placed it wide open in front of his friend “Spit on it”

Brian was shaken, confused. What the hell...?

“Wh- what?” he muttered as his eyes went from the hand to Roger’s face.

“Just spit on it” Roger stated with an arousing low voice.

Doubtingly, Brian shyly spat a bit.

“Spit on more. Like a man” Roger almost growled and Brian felt his cock twitching at the extremely strong resonance of his friend’s words over his body. Fiercely, Brian spat again, but this time the shyness was no longer there. Now, his friend’s hand was unholy baptized with his irrational and unexpected lust.

“Good boy” Roger smirked, then wrapped his wet hand around both cocks. Or he tried, at least. Both men let go a surprisingly loud moan when their skins met for the first time. They could feel the heat and the humidity between their members and Brian instinctively spat on his own right hand and did the same as Roger. Now, their fingers were drenched in saliva and precum and trying to find a way to wrap their cocks together. Again, Brian was too damn wasted and ridiculously aroused enough to question anything about jerking off with your best mate.

At first, it was a bit messy: their hands didn’t seem to find a steady pace and the feeling of their cocks rubbing made their moves erratic. But without words, only relying on the pleasure their bodies urged to seek, they managed to reach a smooth but firm rhythm. Roger’s left hand was grabbing tightly over the curls on Brian’s nape while his own hips started a slow motion to intensify the friction between them. Brian did the same, carried on by his friend’s shameless moans and biting his lower lip in a desperate way to silence his own lustful sounds, biting so hard that a thin string of blood started to flow from his lip.

Roger thought that it was such a waste to let Brian hurt himself like that. So, with his left hand still in the brunet’s nape pulled him closer and licked rabidly Brian’s mouth, enjoying the sweet taste of the tiny amount of blood on his lower lip. There was no difference between kissing a man or a woman, Roger thought, although at the same time, there was this huge and uncomfortable difference between kissing a random girl and kissing Brian. But it was not time to think about that. All Roger could think about was how bloody good was his mate with his long and strong hands and how beautiful (yes, beautiful) he looked while pleasure run all through his body.

Brian stuck his tongue out to lick Roger’s lips, but the result was not what he was expecting. Roger naughtily rubbed his tongue with Brian’s as soon it came out from his mouth. For a brief second, they looked into each other eyes. Roger expression was drowsy and mischievous, smirking like a naughty teen. Brian felt like he was pushed to the core once and again, and against all his beliefs, he was extremely enjoying being challenging by this troublesome yet adorable ferret who happened to be his best friend.

Maybe it was because of the alcohol, maybe because of the intimacy they already shared as mates. They would never know, but the truth is that they were now fondling with their tongues, tangled in a kiss without involving their lips, only sucking and licking their tongues. A lascivious kiss that increased the rhythm of their mutual jerking and their blood pressure. Brian’s left hand went up from Roger’s chest to his neck, grabbing hard his nape and caressing tenderly his chin without breaking the kiss.

Saliva was dripping from the corner of their lips and their dicks were getting wet and sticky with each other, they couldn’t think about anything else.

No Chrissie. No casual shagging. No booze. No party. No space. No nothing.

Just them.

“Bri… I just—I think I’m…” Roger babbled, breaking that lustful kiss and trying to meet Brian’s eyes.

“Just… Just come, Rog” Brian said in a growl, looking into Roger’s eyes and wondering if they always turned into a deeper blue when he was about to come. Wondering if it is legal to be that scandalously gorgeous.

Roger felt Brian’s left hand releasing his neck and went all the way up to caress his face. Without letting go the rhythm, Brian passed his thumb with no rush over Roger's lips and looked at him with his aroused gaze. And that was stronger than their wet cocks shamelessly rubbing, more powerful than any dirty kiss. That was _affection_ , for fuck’s sake, and Roger had been avoiding that carefully. Those puppy eyes on Brian’s face and that bloody finger touching his mouth and trying to clean the saliva mixed with sweat and champagne... It was fucking _tender_ and too much for Roger to handle. So, it happened: his back arched and he finally came, so damn hard that his eyes went white and his swollen, parted lips were unable to emit any sound.

Brian wasn’t prepared for that sight. Roger literally melted under him and the warmth of his cum in his own cock took him to madness. His annoying yet cute ferret was now passed out, with his legs still around his waist. Roger’s body was still moving only because of Brian’s thrusts. He was like a rag doll: a hollowed-eyed and disturbingly arousing rag doll.

 

_Roger had come because of him._

_Roger was worn out because of him._

_Roger was a fucking hot mess because of him._

The vision and those words drilling into his head were too much.

 

“Fuck, Rog…” Brian growled, hugging Roger tight by his waist and biting his champagne flavoured neck. His climax came and, Lord, have mercy, it was the most amazing orgasm he had in his entire life. Not inside a woman, not inside Chrissie. It was on Roger, on his best friend’s cock, on that troublesome ferret who was straight as an arrow until just an hour ago, before going to that rooftop.

 

_Holy bloody shit._

But as the last fireworks of the climax were fading out, the blood started to flow from his cock to his head… and rationality came back.

 

_What the fuck had they done?_

_What on fucking Earth was that?_

Brian started to feel that numbing anxiety running through his fingers and his throat narrowed, almost choking him. Thus, unable to feel his hands, he found it stupidly hard to zip up his jeans.

He sat hugging his knees next to Roger, who was still resting on the floor. The alcohol still in Brian’s mind didn’t help him to think with clarity, but one thing was for sure: he couldn’t blame it to the vodka, the tequila or the half dozens of beer bottles he had alone in that rooftop. He was pretty drunk, yes, but not drunk enough to be fully irresponsible for his actions.

At some point, he had _wanted this._ And that revelation scared the hell out of him. He was now with his gaze lost and moving his feet frantically, clear evidence that anxiety and panic had replaced the lust and desire he felt not long ago.

He had been _unfaithful_ to Chrissie, and on the top of that, he had cheated on her with his _male_ best friend. There was nothing else that could make things worse.

He tried to stand up, but the dizziness and his nerves had turned his legs into jelly, so he ended up in the floor again, trying to figure out how he could get his damn arse out of there before Roger came back to his senses.

But it was too late for that. Roger opened his eyes and looked at his friend, who seemed a bit off. It would be a lie to say that Roger wasn’t shocked. He indeed was. He was absolutely and positively sure he was straight as an arrow, as a ruler, as the fucking Empire State. It was literally yesterday when he jerked off to his favourite picture of Jane Fonda.

 

_What the fuck was this all about?_

He looked at Brian’s back. It was a manly back. He couldn’t blame it to the alcohol. He couldn’t even say that Brian had feminine features and that’s why he felt aroused. He was certainly a man and he wasn’t wasted enough to mistake him for a woman. Suddenly, he remembered saying “ _Wanna see mine?”_  to him. _For fuck’s sake_ , Roger thought and closed his eyes. They had licked and jerked each other off, he had his own cum and Brian’s all over his cock and blouse. But the most disturbing thing about all of this was that Roger _didn’t regret it._ Was it weird as fuck? Yes. Did he still like pussies? Hell, yes. Did he find Brian extremely arousing during that lewd kissing and jerking session? Absolutely yes.

There was an uncomfortable yet sweet feeling of tenderness in his touch that made Roger think that he would repeat it all over again. Because the feeling of being loved by Brian, not as a friend but as his lover, still lingered in his heart and something inside of him claimed for more.

He slowly stood up and noticed that Brian was suspiciously and alarmingly quiet. And he knew there was no calm in his quietness because his awful clogs were tapping over and over on the floor. Brian was undoubtedly anxious, and Roger could figure out why.

 _Think, Roggie, think,_ he thought, trying to find a way to make things easier for them. For Roger, it was futile to deny what just happened. They couldn’t call it “an accident”: you don’t jerk off your friend and end up kissing him by “accident”. But the tension between them was high and _something had to be done or said._

So, Roger thought that humour was the key to get away elegantly from all this bloody emotional mess. First, they could laugh about it, and maybe later (and sober) they could question their sexuality.

It seemed a good plan for Roger, and he trusted wholeheartedly in his plans. Even though he was still drunk.

So he tried his brilliant move.

 

“Well, that was kind of… weird and…damn, pretty hot. I bet you’ll call” Roger said playfully, trying to clean himself with his hands and failing epically in the process “Fuck, I guess I’ll have to sneak to the loo on the main hallway…” Roger zipped up and stood.

 

Brian thought that the situation couldn’t be any worse. But Roger and his lack of tact were there to prove him wrong.

 _So, he even has the brain of a ferret,_ Brian thought.

And then, he lost it. Simply lost it.

“How—how the hell can you be so--- so calm?!” Brian blurted, just one step away from a breakdown.

 

Roger looked at Brian, shocked. He had never seen his friend in that state, and to be honest, it was frighteningly.

 

“Hey, mate, calm down, all right? We can talk---”

“We won’t talk about anything! We just… I just…” Brian stood up trembling and started going around in circles, grabbing his head and with a lost gaze in his eyes, drowning himself into a sickening loop.

“Hey, Bri, listen to me…” Roger tried to touch his arm, but Brian violently snapped his hand off.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Roger. And don't you dare to 'Bri' me. This is all your fault, your damn fault!” he looked angrily at Roger, cursing him… and despising himself “What did you fucking do, Taylor?” he said gruffly and left the rooftop.

Roger just stood there, speechless.

His mind was a damn mess too, for God’s sake. He just had some kinky sex with his best mate!

How could you not be shaken by something like that? He was trying to make things easier for both of them, trying to play it cool because he was as shocked as his mate. _His best friend._

But Brian put the blame on him.

 

That wasn’t fair. That was cruel.

_That fucking hurt._

His fault? His fault, when the one who literally asked for his touch was that stupid poodle?

Roger looked up to the skies.

“He’ll call, I bet he’ll call” He said bitterly, as his eyes filled with rage and doubt.


	4. A tricky situation

Freddie’s call startled Roger. It was 10 am and the ringing rumbled in his one-bedroom apartment and in his head. He almost tripped over his old drums cramped beside his bed, and when he reached the phone a calm yet suspicious Freddie asked him to come over in the afternoon to discuss something about their next gig.

 It was weird because Freddie would never, _ever_ call him to talk about band stuff without John and Brian. That made no sense at all, and Roger started to feel a void in his stomach that could be fear that Freddie _knew_. Or maybe it could be that he was starving. Yes, that was it: he needed to eat something. He went straight to his mini fridge and took out the leftovers from several days ago. An alarming kind of green mould (a fungus, presumably) was covering the food. So maybe it was spoiled, but Roger was a strong believer that fungus was indeed good for his health, so he smelled the plate just in case and ate what once was a fine beef stew made by his mother. Certainly, Roger Taylor was living on the edge. His stomach and liver were no exception.

But the void remained and there was not enough beef stew to make it go away. He wasn’t hungry: he had this kind of hole on his gut, something his grandma used to call the _collywobbles_ : that uncomfortable feeling that there was something else behind Freddie’s call, and Roger knew it. Maybe Fred had noticed how ridiculously cold Brian had acted towards him the day before when he showed up for cleaning. The stupid poodle couldn’t be more obvious: he didn’t say a word to Roger during the five bloody hours they spent in that flat. Maybe Deacy was too sleepy (or just being too Deacy) to notice something at all, but it was highly possible that Freddie was aware that something was odd between Brian and Roger. And yes, maybe he fucked everything up all the more with his carefree and chilly attitude (ok, not maybe: he totally did), but at least he was trying that for the sake of both of them.

Roger sighed and threw himself on his messy bed, looking at the roof where his poster of Jane Fonda was. He was still naked except for his boxers and probably he would stay like that for a while. Roger didn’t feel like dressing up, but he felt in the mood to look at the gorgeous Jane Fonda at his ceiling. _What a hot babe she is_ , he thought, and his right hand slowly went down to his crotch. He slipped his hand through his boxers to touch his still soft dick. Roger enjoyed his masturbation sessions just as much he loved sex with women: he wasn’t ashamed of jerking off. It was natural for him and he strongly believed that these private sessions with himself (which had started during puberty, like any healthy boy) were the reason why every woman he shagged would tell everybody how damn good he was at sex. Masturbation wasn’t just stroking his cock desperately for Roger: it was a moment to find and experiment all his sweet spots, to enjoy his body. The young and naughty Mr Taylor had learned to read his own body just as much everyone else’s. Or at least, that's what he thought.

He relaxed his shoulders as he fixed his baby blue eyes on Fonda’s breasts. While letting go another deep sigh, Roger started to caress his member the way he always did, the way he knew that would make his body react. In his fantasies, Jane Fonda would appear half naked and submissive, asking him to call her all sorts of dirty names and asking for rough, raw, merciless sex. But although that was his predilect fantasy, and despite whatever anyone could think about Roger, he was never violent during his sexual encounters. In fact, he had been always too afraid or ashamed to ask any of his old girlfriends or even his one-stand shags to make his wild and savage fantasies come true. Being abusive over someone was an abject thing for Roger, yet he had always felt secretly turn on by it. So, alone in his small apartment and under the gaze of his Jane Fonda paper doll, he could do as much as he desired.

The whole scenario was already in his mind and it started to play in his imagination like a movie.  Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on his own touch over his skin, but it was useless: his dick was still soft, and it seemed like it was going to be futile to keep going. Just when Roger was decided to give up on his failed private pleasure session, it happened: a flash from two nights ago came to his mind. The drunken memory of Brian clumsily and shyly stroking his member broke the Fonda’s scenario and gave Roger a sudden shudder, which he  felt as a deep throb through his dick.

_Fuck._

_What the fuck was going on, really._

He put his hands apart and growled. This had to be something completely normal, he thought. Being with someone of your same sex for the first time was kind of a big deal and his experience was indeed pleasurable. It was logical to think about it and feel aroused by the memories, right? Completely normal.

Roger decided to abort the mission: his private session would have to wait. He got up and started to dress up. The sooner he talked with Freddie, the better.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, Roggie. You came too soon. That’s new of you” Freddie said while he headed to the kitchen. Roger closed the apartment's door.

“Well, calling me so early in the morning to discuss some band shit without the guys is _also_ something new  of you, Fred” Roger answered sharply, and Freddie took his right hand to his chest mimicking a dramatic ‘how dare you’ from the kitchen’s door. The blond rolled his eyes and sat on Freddie’s old and brown couch “Mary?”

“Oh, she’s having some fun with his old friends from Biba’s. They were going to spend the afternoon having tea… and _spilling the tea_ , no doubt about it. I don’t expect her to come home any time soon” Freddie said as he was pouring tea in two old but fancy tea cups. He quickly came back to the small living room where Roger was “Lucky you, I’ve already made some tea…”

“So, you assumed that I wanted tea. What if I wanted booze, huh?” Roger complained, rising his eyebrows cheerfully.

“Oh, darling. I wouldn’t let you drink in the middle of the day. That is not acceptable. There is an implicit rule about drinking, you see: if you drink at parties or shows, that’s classy and charming. If you drink alone or during the day, oh my: that’s gross and probably a sign that you have some issues…” Freddie said as he was taking a sit beside Roger.

“Oh, please Fred… what’s with that fucked up logic?” he choked a laugh and shook his head.

Roger saw how Freddie took his cuppa and started to drink, making a pout with his mouth and fixing his gaze on his neatly framed poster of Liza Minelli at the other side of the living room. _He is looking for the words to start talking, fuck, I know him too well_ , Roger thought. He knew his friend a little bit much for his own sake: Freddie was trying to find the way to blurt out everything.

“ALRIGHT THEN, just spit it out” Roger snorted and took his cuppa. Tea was indeed a good idea.

Freddie put his cuppa apart from his mouth and looked innocently at Roger.

“Spit what?” he said.

“I know you know. Though I don’t know how, but I know you bloody know” Roger said and took a long sip from his cuppa.

“And what do _I_ know specifically?” Freddie put aside his cup of tea, looking at Roger with an inquiring gaze.

“Oh, fuck. _I_ know _you_ know and by now, _you_ know that _I_ know you know, so stop this bollock and just spit out what’s in your head already, would you?” Roger said in the edge of losing his patience and rolled his eyes.

“Roggie, if this is about me keeping your favourite teddy bear Lennon, I’m deeply sorry. You thought you lost it but when we moved out, I found it and I---” Freddie said dramatically but Roger didn’t let him finish his nonsense.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t act like a prat, Fred!” Roger went mute for a few seconds “We’ll talk about Lenny later, but you know that is not the issue right now”

Freddie took both of his hands to his chest affectedly.

“My dear, I have no idea what you are ta—” Freddie couldn’t go on with his speech.

“Fuck, I’m talking about me and Brian almost shagging at the party!” Roger shouted and let himself fell against the back of the couch.

Freddie imposed a calm expression and put gently a hand over Roger’s knee.

“Do you see how nice is to take this out of your chest, darling? I bet you feel a lot better now. I was just giving you your space, so this little dirty and juicy secret of yours could come up naturally.”

“Naturally? You pushed me to the core, you little piece of shit!” Roger whined and let out a sigh.

Both friends spent a few seconds in silence. Then, Freddie broke the weird atmosphere with a knife.

“Was it good?”

Roger turned slowly his head to his mate.

“Really? You witnessed two of your best mates jerking each other off and the only question that came to your mind is if it felt good? Really, Fred?” Roger said almost in a whisper, doubtingly. Freddie shrugged his shoulders and his eyes insisted for a response. Roger sighed “It felt good. Too bloody good.”

“Well, it seemed so…” Freddie said, letting himself fall against the back of the sofa as well.

“How… I mean…When did you see us?” Roger asked.

“Well, after a while Mary complained that it was taking you a lot of time or trouble to make Brian come down, so she wanted to check on you. I thought that maybe both of you were getting wasted or having some fun with a couple of birds so, being Mary and Chrissy close friends, I asked her to stay with John and I went up. When I arrived, I saw you too doing your horny thing. I wanted to stay and watch the entire show, but thinking about the _band_ I decided to stay smoking in the middle of the stairs to the rooftop. Mary showed up and I told her Brian was just a bit depressed and you were talking to him. Then we saw this big poodle running down the stairs and well, you can figure out the rest” Freddie said and raised his dark eyebrows.

“Well, thank you, Sherlock.” Roger mumbled and after a short sigh, he talked again “Thank you, I mean it. Really.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. We’re friends. That’s what friends do” Freddie said “But, really. What the fuck was that, Rog? I thought you were into pussies only.”

“Well, to be honest I thought that too, but it seems like we were wrong the whole time. I guess that if I drink a little and I’m in the mood, I can do guys too. Or at least I’m willing to jerk them off…” Roger couldn’t believe his words. But this was Freddie and he felt no shame: he could tell him how he really felt about that whole messy and tricky situation.

“That’s good indeed. It means that you have a chance to shag with the entire world population. And with that look of yours you’re heading to success, you lucky bastard” Freddie laughed “But, judging by the way he ran off, Mr Brian Herald May was a little shocked after that. And, oh, the way he avoided you the day after… Even Deacy found it strange.”

“His second name is Harold, not Herald” Roger corrected.

“See? You are already so nuts about him” Freddie joked, and Roger gave him a little kick in his ankle.

“Shut up, wanker. This is fucking serious. After we… you know, we… we finished our business, the situation became weird and tense, so I said jokingly that he would call” Roger said with embarrassment painted all over his face.

“Really? Really, TAYLOR?” Freddie choked a laugh and then clap his hands “For fuck’s sake, Roger. If it were you and me, you could joke as much as you want because it would be no big deal to me. But this is not me: is Brian Harald ‘Mr I-do-everything-right-I-dare-you-to-question-me May’! He had just cheated on his long-time sweetheart and with a man! How can you be so smart and dumb at the same time, Roggie? Really.” Freddie sighed as he took his hands to his eyes.

“It’s Harold, with an o” Roger mumbled.

“Whatever his bloody second name is!  The point is that you just shook off the whole situation like that with Brian! What the heck were you thinking? Oh, I know. You weren’t.” Freddie calmed down a bit “What did he say?”

“He said it was my fault, although he was the one who asked for a bloody kiss to begin with.”

“I knew it. I knew there was something more between Brian and you.” Freddie smiled mischievously as he shook his head.

“Please, Fred. There’s nothing _more_ between us! It was just a fling, a one-time thing!” Roger dismissed his friend’s words “But I think we should talk about it. I don’t want this mess to interfere with the band…”

“Me neither. Of course, you must talk, and you’ve got to do it as soon as possible, dear. We have a lot of shows coming and I don’t want any trouble.” Freddie said as he sat straight on the couch. “And most of all, I don’t want to see any of you troubled…”

“I want to talk but I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen… It would be stupid.” Roger said and frowned his eyebrows “Besides, now I feel pretty curious about myself. I don’t know if this means I’m bisexual or gay or…” thought briefly about Jane Fonda “Well, I still love pussies, so I guess I’m not gay, but I need… I feel like there is this kind of urge inside me that maybe…and just _maybe_ I’ll need to experiment a little bit this same sex thing…you know. I just don’t want Brian to hate me for that.”

Roger’s honest speech took Freddie by surprise.

“Darling, Brian is such a bolshie when it comes to his emotions or anything beyond of his ‘what-is-right’ ideas… He is not going to make it easy for you and you know that, Roggie.” Freddie’s compassionated voice brought some calm to Roger.

“I know, Fred. I know. But… I don’t want this to change anything between us and neither I want to act cool and pretend in front of him. He is one of my best mates, you know.”

Both men sighed and an awkward silence filled the room. It seemed like an eternity until one of them broke the tense atmosphere.

“You enjoyed it more than what you’re willing to admit, right? Being like that with Brian, I mean.” Freddie whispered, choosing his words consciously.

Roger just froze. There was no point in lying to Fred, really. They knew each other too damn much.

“Maybe?” the blond mumbled.

Freddie sighed loudly and put a hand over his mate’s shoulder.

“Just one last question.”

“Whatever you want, Fred. You got all the juicy details by now…” Roger joked bitterly.

“Why not me?” Freddie said and stroke a subtle and seductive pose.

Roger choked a laugh.

“You look like an otter who just tasted lemon and didn’t like it. Not my type, buddy.” Roger said as Freddie pulled an overdramatic face.

“How dare you, you little piece of shit!” Freddie shouted and punched him in his arm.

Roger laughed and soon the laughter coming from them both seemed to take away all the worries the blond and Fred were carrying. And for a moment, Roger forgot it all.

He forgot that he was scared to death about Brian’s reaction.

He forgot that the fear of losing his friendship with that big and stubborn poodle was as big as his doubts.

He forgot that Deacy would find out eventually and he was terrified about how he was going to react.

But above it all, he forgot that one thought, the one that had been haunting him for the last couple of days: the thought that being held by Brian was probably the hottest and most intense experience that he had in his bloody life.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, people!
> 
> Yes, yes... I know. It's been a while. Life has been hard lately and I've been working 12 hours per day. But here it is! Chapter IV, the calm before the storm (Chapter V is super angsty and will be uploaded in a few days).
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta Adri and thank you to all of you guys who have left kudos, comments and even messages on Tumblr. You lighted up my life a bit and made me smile :)
> 
> If you wanna follow me or DM on Tumblr, you can find me here: https://computersaysnot.tumblr.com/ I post a lot of Queen trash.
> 
> And if you enjoy my chapter, please leave a comment. 
> 
> COMMENTS = LOVE 
> 
> Thank you again for waiting!!


	5. I’ve only got myself to blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks!  
> Thank you for the kudos on my last chapter!  
> Here it is the chapter V... I'm sorry-not sorry for all the angst you're gonna read.
> 
> Thanks again to Adri for being an amazing beta and to all of you guys who still support me :)
> 
> And comments are my crack and my fuel, please pleaaaase let me know what you think.
> 
> You can find me here https://computersaysnot.tumblr.com/ Don't be shy, I love to talk about Queen, ships and writing stuff.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one ;)

 

Just as soon as the rehearsal ended Roger knew that he had to talk to Brian before things got any worse. It was pretty obvious to everybody in that room that both Roger and Brian were extremely anxious, and that led them to lose their beats and notes more than any other rehearsal that they had had.

John was very understanding with Roger, waiting patiently for him to catch up the beat every time he lost it. A couple of times John’s eyes stared at Roger with a bit of pity, knowing how damn hard their drummer always worked to achieve the perfect sound and harmony. It was clear that something was odd, or even worse, something was _off_.

Brian was not any better. He missed several notes and played slower than ever. When he tried to speed up, he screwed it all up even more and, surprisingly for John and Freddie, Roger didn’t make a single comment about the whole thing.  If Roger and his sassy mouth were unwilling to put up a fight for the tiniest and stupidest things, then something was surely odd. No doubt about it.

Before Roger could think about how to approach Brian, the sound of Freddie clapping caught his attention.

“Alright, darlings. It was not our day it seems… Brian, dear, you got lost during ‘Son and daughter’, what happened?” Freddie said as he put his hands on his waist.

“Sorry, Fred… Guys. I guess I’m a bit tired. I’ve been busy this last week. I couldn’t focus. I’m really sorry” Brian said, slightly moving his head and his big black curls as he used to when he was embarrassed or nervous.

“Oh, it’s ok, darling. Just try to focus next time, ok? And Rog, you pretty boy, how come you lost the beat and even were too bloody slow during your solo in ‘Keep yourself alive’?”

“Yeah, I totally fucked it up. Sorry. And Deaks, thank you, man. I guess you indeed are a saint. Thanks for putting up with me today” Roger said as he stood up from his seat at the drums.

“Don’t worry, Roger. It was just a bad day, that’s all. Brian, you too. It’s ok.” John said softly as he took off his bass.

Freddie went straight to Deacy and hugged him from behind.

“My cinnamon roll darling! Too pure, too cute. You were flawless, ABSOLUTELY! You deserve all the good things for dealing with these wankers” Freddie said jokingly and John laughed. And when that young and shy man laughed, everything seemed to be all right for the band. He had that refreshing energy, that inner calm that never failed at making the atmosphere lighter and brighter. Roger laughed too and even the overthinker Mr. May allowed himself to skip a laugh or two.

“Ok, I guess we had a Mercury retrograde today, so this is it for the day, folks,” Freddie said looking for cigarettes in his old backpack.

“Oh, don’t call yourself that, Fred” Roger said, and Freddie threw his jacket at him. Both men smiled at each other and everything felt better for a couple of seconds.

“Brian, come with me. I need to discuss something about your guitar in ‘Son and daughter’” Freddie casually put his hand over Brian's shoulder. The brunet nodded and soon both of them were out the room.

While Roger was taking care of his drums, Deacy came closer to him and sat on the floor near his mate.

“Hey, Roger. Can I ask you something…? Well, actually I want to ask you two things specifically” John said with his deep and soothing voice.

“Sure, mate. I can’t assure you that I’d be of some help though but, serve yourself” Roger said smiling without taking his eyes off his drums.

“Brian and you… Did you guys fight or something like that?” John almost whispered the sentence, trying to be cautious with his words and hoping that Roger would not be upset because of his question.

Roger took away his eyes from his instrument and turned his head at the ceiling. He knew it. It was evident to everyone that they were acting weird. He knew that this question from Deacy would come.

“Well, yeah. We fought, Deaks” Roger mumbled and tilt a bit his head, now looking at John in the eyes “Is it too obvious?” he said with a half-smile.

“A bit” John skipped a laugh “Can’t you work it out? I mean, you are best mates. You’ve been together since _Smile_ … And besides the band, you’ve been sharing a lot since like, forever.”

“It’s true. It’s just… Well, sometimes the more you know a person and the closer you get to them, your fights tend to be epic, you know? You give them your best shot in the heat of the fight, and you end up saying things that are going to hurt like shit” Roger said and let go a long, deep sigh. He was still near his drums, touching vaguely the surface of the hi-hat.

John nodded and blinked fast, choosing his words in his mind.

“I know that it ain’t easy but, really: is this problem between Brian and you so impossible to solve? I don’t think so. Even if you steal Chrissie from him, I know that Brian and you could even work that out” John did a pause “Did you steal Chrissie from him?”

Roger blurted out in laughs. _Damn, Deaks. I guess it’s totally the opposite_ , Roger thought.

“Of course not, John! I have codes, you know. My friends’ girlfriends are out of my sight, no matter what. And remember this: I dated Chrissie’s friend. It would be too much trouble for a shag” Roger nodded his head “It’s more complicated than that…”

“Bollocks.” John blurted.

Roger froze. What? Was that Deacy being… aggressive?

“Pardon me?” the blond almost whispered.

“Bo – llocks” John said, once again modulating every syllable.

Roger frowned and before he could even say a word, John started to talk again.

“I’ve seen you guys. I’ve been watching you interact for the past two years and a half. Even if you fight, even if you are always complaining about how slow he plays sometimes or how bloody much he overthinks everything, even if he loses it with you every time you get too wasted for a human being or you get too cocky for a person as short as you… That means nothing because you can communicate almost telepathically with just throwing glares or gazes at each other. You are like Ying and Yang; you fucking complement each other… There’s nothing _complicated_ between you both, Roger. This is a _pride_ problem. And please, be honest with me … Is your pride more important than your bond with Brian?” John said quietly.

The blond was speechless. Deacy was one of a kind indeed. He could stay silent for almost a month but when he opened his mouth some sort of an epiphany would come out and you just couldn’t ignore him or his words. This shy young man was like a diamond in the rough in so many and mysterious ways.

“I think… I think you’re right. It is a pride thing. Maybe a little bit deeper than that but for sure we have a pair of big and cocky egos, too bloody big and cocky for our own sake” Roger choked a bitter laugh and looked into Deacy’s eyes “Thank you, lad. I didn’t notice that myself.”

“John Richard Deacon, born on August the 19th, 1951. At your service” John said jokingly and both men smiled.

Roger felt relieved but not only for the advice: Deacy seemed to be a part of the band at last. At first, his extremely quiet and introverted personality was what they needed to find equilibrium between their three strong and narcissistic ones(not to mention his obvious talent). But as time passed, Roger worried about Deacy feeling like an outsider, but now John had found his place in the band and that was a big relief.

“You said you have one more question. What is it?” Roger said as he was searching for a cigar in his pocket.

“Oh, that. Uhm… I met… I met a girl at the party.” John said shyly while his eyes were looking at the floor.

 _Oh, isn’t this adorable?_ Roger thought and a big, mischievous smile started to make its way through his lips.

“Well, young Mr. Deacon… That’s interesting! Who’s the lucky bird, huh?” Roger said and punched softly Deacy’s shoulder.

“Shut up!” John laughed nervously “Her name is Veronica, but she told me to call her Ronnie. She graduated from Chrissie’s High School. She is nice and… well, she asked me out and I said yes, but I have no idea what to do… I guess last time I went on a date I was sixteen. I don’t know. I’m such a loser” he scratched the back of his head as his face turned slightly red.

“No, you are _not_! Come on, I’ll buy you a drink or two. I can give you some advice… Some really good advice. I can tell this Ronnie bird is something special to you” Roger said as he was picking up his things “Just help me to put this crap in the car. We’ll say goodbye to the guys on our way out”

Deacy nodded and soon they were off. A long afternoon of drinks and a Master Class with the bird’s enchanter Roger Taylor waited for him.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as they got out from the studio and Freddie lighted up his cigar at the back of the building, Brian couldn’t help himself and started to blabber.

“Fred, I’m deeply sorry. I know we got a gig in two weeks and our first tour is coming, but I prom—” Brian couldn’t finish.

“Oh, darling! For Christ’s bloody nails! How can you be so _dense_! That’s not why I brought you here” Freddie blurted out dramatically.

Brian spent five whole seconds staring at Freddie with a confused gaze.

“What? Oh, is the Christ’s nails thing, isn’t it? I’ve just made it up. Don’t you think it’s powerful? Very Spanish” Freddie said proudly and took a quick smoke.

“No- no, Freddie. That’s not… I mean, yeah, but that’s not…” Brian shook his head briefly “What do you mean about me being dense?”

“Dear, Rog and you being awfully distracted today have nothing to do with Mercury retrograde… I think it’s more like a Taylor retrograde for you, am I wrong?” Freddie inquired, letting go of the cigar’s ashes with a subtle movement of his wrist.

Brian felt a void in his stomach. _Was it that obvious?_ He was pretty sure that he had hidden his uneasiness around Roger like a boss. Ok, they made some mistakes at the rehearsal but maybe it was because they were tired. Nothing else.

“Don’t make that face, May. Something happened between Rog and you and it’s more obvious than an elephant in a china shop” Freddie said.

The void in Brian’s stomach grew deeper. _“Something happened between Rog and you…”_  Damn. _There’s no way he knows, right?_ Brian thought and tried to calm himself down.

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Fred, I— “Brian mumbled nervously.

Freddie rolled his eyes and thought about how hard it would be for the poor Roger to deal with Brian ‘Mr Serial Denier’ May.

“You two fought, Brian. We could feel it in that room” Freddie said and took another smoke. It was better to tell Brian this that letting him know that he saw  him kissing Roger fiercely almost a week ago.

Brian let go a sigh of relief.

“Oh… Well. Yes, we had a fight a couple days ago… But…” Brian took his hands to his head “But I really thought it wouldn’t affect our music… Now that you mention it, I guess… I guess that our awkwardness maybe had something to do with the stupid mistakes we made today…”

“ _‘Maybe’_ , Brian? Just _‘maybe’_ ? Of course, it did! Rog and you are bloody best mates. You’ve been nail and dirt since the day  I met you guys! If you have a fight, and I presume it is a big one, of course it would affect the band!” Freddie said affectedly and as soon as he saw Brian putting down his guilty gaze, he smoothed his tone “Listen Bri. You have been together for a long time, since _Smile_ … You were working and supporting each other during the last five years or so. It’s clear you have a connection, a strong bond between you… Even if he would ever shag Chrissie, you’d still be able to forgive him.”

Brian let go a bitter laugh. _The problem is that he didn’t shag Chrissie: WE almost shag_ , Brian thought. But Fred had a point. Roger was like a brother to him and that was probably why all this bloody mess affected him this bad. The same-sex thing wasn’t really an issue. Being in the rock scene had taught Brian that love could come in any shape and really, being with a man wasn’t the main issue here. The problem was that the man was Rog, his mate, his brother, his partner. And in the top of that, he had cheated on Chrissie and she didn’t deserve that, she was the most amazing girlfriend that he ever had.

And on top of that, like the strawberry over the cake, was the fact that he totally _enjoyed_ all the things that happened that night with Roger. A dangerous door had been opened, and Brian wanted so badly to close it that his rage targeted his mate.

“I… I know. I don’t enjoy being like this with Roger, trust me… And…after we… after we fought, I put the blame on him, and I know that it wasn’t fair. I’m to blame too” Brian sighed and didn’t dare to look into Freddie’s eyes.

“Darling, it’s ok. I do care about the band, but I care about you, Rog and Deacy the most. And I don’t want to see any of you guys like this. Promise me that you are going to take the first step, ok? That you’re going to talk with Roger so you both can sort this bloody mess out” Freddie said and put both his hands over Brian’s shoulders.

The brunet smiled and nodded his head. Freddie was right. They had to find a way to get out from all this mess and he knew he was the one who had to take the first step. Freddie let his shoulders go and the back door opened. John and Roger were talking cheerfully and carrying their stuff.

“Guys, we’re going. Guess we’ll see you tomorrow at 10 am?” Roger asked.

“Of course, pretty boy. At 10 am. Bring some coffee” Freddie chuckled, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“Alright, but you got to bring something to eat, wanker” the blond shouted, and Freddie pinched Brian’s butt.

“OUCH!” Brian whined and all the boys looked at him. Freddie’s prying gaze reminded him that the bloody pinch was a friendly hint to make him do what he got to do.

“Brian, are you alright?” John asked frowning his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah, I just remembered something. Um, Roger… Can I drop by your flat this evening? There’s something I want to discuss with you… Is it alright?” Brian asked nervously as he was caressing subtly his pinched butt. Damn Freddie.

Roger froze and before he could answer, John talked.

“Oh, of course. Rog and I are going to grab some drinks, but he just told me he will spend the night at home, writing some stuff he has on his mind. Right, Rog?” John put his hand firmly on Roger’s shoulder and the blond got the message.

“Ah, yeah. Right. Just come by. I’ll be at home… Writing some stuff I have on my mind” Roger answered like a lousy robot. John and Freddie rolled their eyes and they felt like they were back in High School again.

“Well, see you then” Brian smiled awkwardly and Roger waved his hand at Fred and him. He got in his car with John and as the automobile left, Brian thought about how he wanted to ride that car again and to have his friend back.

 

* * *

 

 

The flat was a mess but that didn’t bother Roger. It was 8:30 pm and what was really bothering him was this stupid thing of being so anxious about Brian coming to his place.

Brian had been at his place countless times. They even shared Roger’s bed a couple of nights, when the brunet was too tired or too wasted to go back to his own flat after a long night having fun downtown or after a long day working in their music. Now everything seemed different and Roger knew why: _that night._ He sighed loudly and looked at the ceiling, searching for Jane Fonda.

“How do you think this is going to end, babe?” Roger mumbled softly “Yup, I agree. It’s gonna be hard…”

Three knocks on the door interrupted the conversation with the blond and hot paper babe that lived in his ceiling.

“Who’s there?” Roger asked, even knowing who might be.

“It’s me, Bri…an”

Roger took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hi, man. Come in” Roger said trying to act cool… but not too cool as the time he said, _“I bet you’ll call’._ Not that kind of _chilly Roggie_ : that was a mistake. He had learned.

Brian came into the flat and stared at the Jane Fonda poster for a few seconds. It was getting old, and you could tell by it’s fading colours. Once Roger told him that he got that poster while he was a teen in Truro and since then, she had been his company during his lonely (and not so lonely) times. Roger was straight as a fucking arrow… and so was Brian.

_Then, how the hell did they end caught up in this situation?_

“Want something to drink?” Roger asked, and sat on his old green couch.

“No, thanks, I’m alright” Brian answered and took a sit on an old chair beside the round, small table that rested between the couch and the kitchen’s door. Roger’s flat was pretty small, and the living room was also dining room and bedroom. It was kind of impossible not to feel cramped in that place “Hey, Rog… I’m… I’m sorry for the things I said that night” Brian mumbled while his eyes were stuck on the floor.

Roger sighed and looked at Brian. He couldn’t believe it: the poodle was saying _sorry._ And it didn’t only break a bit the ice between them, it also made Roger realise how willing was Brian to fix the things that were risking their friendship. That was more than enough for him.

“It’s okay. I’m… I’m sorry too. I tend to trivialize everything and maybe I sounded like I didn’t care but that’s far from how I felt…and from how I’m feeling even now, you know?” Roger said with his raspy voice, trying to find Brian’s eyes with his.

“I know, Roger. I mean, how long have we been friends? Five years or so? I know that you always use your jokes to deal with almost everything. It’s just that I was too overwhelmed. I mean, we’d just… you know” Brian’s eyes left the floor and for the first time they dared to look into Roger’s blue gaze.

“We’d just kissed and jerked each other off, yes. I’m very aware of that” Roger blurted that sentence out and choked a laugh “I didn’t know I could do that with a man, to be honest”

“Me neither” Brian mumbled. It was easy for Roger to put into words what happened but for him it was still too hard to talk openly about it. It was more than enough with the memories from that night that were still playing vividly in his mind “We should just forget about it, you know. We’re both straight and---”

“Brian, I’m not gonna pretend it didn’t happen. For me it did, and it was a big deal. It means that maybe I could be bisexual and for fuck’s sake, that’s big shit for me” Roger said firmly “And if I want to be as I always have been with you, I just can’t pretend that night didn’t happen. I hope we can move on from here, that we can joke about it some day and that’s it.”

“Roger, let’s be reasonable here: you love women. Look at that gorgeous Jane Fonda above your bed. Remember all the hot babes you shagged and how damn much you wanted them… What happened that night doesn’t mean that you’re bisexual” Brian said, “We can pretend it didn’t happen, for the sake of both of us.”

Roger stood up from the couch.

“No, I just don’t want to, and I can’t. I refuse to do that. If you want to do that alright, then. But our friendship will be fake. Move on _doesn’t mean_ pretend it didn’t happen” Roger sighed and roll his eyes “It fucking felt good, didn’t it?”

Brian was almost speechless. He passed a hand through his curls, trying to avoid the sensation of running away from that place, from that moment.

Roger started to come closer to his friend.

“Because it felt good for me. So bloody good that I don’t know how to deal with it” the blond blurted and his eyes fixed in Brian’s.

“It was just a biological response. It felt good. That’s it. Doesn’t mean anything and I insist, the best we can do is just pretend it didn’t happen” Brian said, taking away his eyes from Roger’s.

“Okay, if you want to deny everything that’s fine. But that’s not the way for me. And let me ask you something. If I start trying new things, like being with other men, would you do the same? Would you _deny_ me? Would you _pretend_ not seeing my sexuality? Would a friend do that?” Roger inquired.

“Oh, please, Roger! Don’t say that! Of course, I wouldn’t! But you are taking that night too seriously. You definitely are not bisexual or anything!” Brian stood up and passed his both hands through his hair.

“Don’t do that, Brian. Don’t just assume things about me as if I were you. After that night, I’m sure that---” Roger couldn’t finish his sentence.

“It was a stupid, a bloody _mistake_ . We were drunk, we were under a lot of pressure and when we relaxed, we…” Brian tried to find the right sentences for his lousy denial speech while his hands were moving in circles as if the words that he was missing could be caught in the air “We just relieved each other. That was it. Let’s just forget about it.” It sounded weird and absurd, but he tried to believe his own words. He _needed_ to believe them. Brian was looking at the floor cowardly, wishing with all his heart that Roger would just forget about it all. He knew that every word that came out from his mouth was an elaborate piece of his own denial puzzle, every bloody sentence was part of his pathetic and lame speech to convince himself that what happened between them was meaningless.

“I… I know that this is harder for you to deal with because you cheated on Chrissie and I feel like shit about that too” Roger said sincerely, with a compassionate gaze.

“I didn’t _cheat_ on her, Roger” Brian said bluntly while looking into his friend’s eyes.

Roger choked a laugh.

“Well… Mate, we fucking kissed and jerked each other, I mean---”

“You are a man, Roger. You _don’t count_ as a fling” Brian blurted that internal spell he had been repeating to himself for the past three days. “I _did not_ cheat on Chrissie.”

“That’s bollocks, Brian! We—” Roger couldn’t finish his sentence.

“For God’s sake, Roger! You are a man” Brian shouted to bury Roger’s words “Do you want to know so badly why all of this happened, huh? Do you want to know what I really think about this whole damn nightmare? That is your fucking fault, _lad_.” Brian’s rage against himself started to flow through his poisonous words, and they had found a new target “I was a bit drunk and stressed as hell. Chrissie wasn’t there but oh, Goldilocks appeared on the rooftop. Face it, Roger. You can shag all the women you want, but you look quite feminine, don’t you think?” Brian’s voice tone was mischievous and his scornful gaze pierced Roger “So, I was mistaken. For a couple of minutes, I thought that you were a nice bird. You can’t be surprised: you have been hit by lads a lot, honestly. Haven’t you?”

 _This is not Brian, this can’t be him_ , Roger thought as he was trying to remain calm. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He was starting to feel the urge of breaking Brian’s cocky mouth: maybe if he punched him strong enough to make Brian’s lips swollen and bleeding, that poodle would stop blabbing his hurtful nonsense for at least one minute. But for once, life was asking Roger to be the mature one on this. Life had a wicked sense of humour, indeed.

“I even told you that I wasn’t Chrissie and you kept going, Brian. And you were the one who literally asked for a bloody kiss. And for fuck’s sake, I have a _dick_ ! You can’t say that you were _mistaken_ all the way!” Roger shouted and Brian harshly put his hand on his mouth to shut the blond. He pushed him strong enough to make Roger tumble on his feet as Brian’s strength dragged him to hit his back against the wall behind them.  A choked growl came from Roger as his eyes opened wide and shocked: this was not Brian… _at all._

“Just shut the fuck up, would you? It was nothing and we won’t talk about this _ever_ again, you understand? Am I making myself clear, Taylor?” Brian mumbled with a low and emotionless tone that made Roger’s gut sting. This was not the quiet and well-mannered young lad he knew. He could barely recognise his fellow behind those angry hazel eyes.

Brian felt bitter frustration running through his veins, boiling in his blood. Why couldn’t Roger just let that night go? Brian himself couldn’t forget it, but oh, how badly he wanted to. Something was released deep inside him that day, but it was a secret that should have been bottled down forever.

And then, he felt a grab on his  arm, the one whose hand was shutting his best friend’s mouth. He suddenly also noticed Roger’s eyes, those baby blue eyes that were now filled with tears and rage, surrounded by the now prominent veins in his mate’s forehead that seemed to crown his angry yet shocked gaze. That _something_ pinching his arm was Roger’s attempt to get free from Brian’s violence.

Roger was trying to _breathe._ That revelation fell into the brunet’s mind and he released his mate quickly. Brian felt himself like going out from a trance, a violent and dark trance that made him do what he never ever meant to do. He had actually hurt Roger and while the blond was coughing against the wall, Brian could see the red marks of his hand over the pinkish and soft skin around his mouth.

 _What have I done, for fuck’s sake?_ Brian thought and again a numbing feeling appeared through his hands and body. It was an overwhelming panic mixed with pain and regret. A new cocktail that he would have prefer never to have tasted.

Roger stopped coughing and slowly raised his head to find Brian’s face. His blue eyes were now reddish, watery and the anger along the shock were filling his gaze.

 _So, this is how it’s going to be,_ Roger thought bitterly.

“Rog, please… I… I didn’t know why I… Oh, God, please—” Brian's frantic speech was interrupted.

“Get the fuck out of here. Now” Roger said in a deep voice that made Brian almost shiver. He froze and couldn’t move. Being conscious of his own violence and being aware that he could have hurt Roger badly was a zillion times worse than jerking off with your best mate. That was for sure.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, NOW” Roger shouted and hit the wall with his right fist.

Brian reacted and left the flat as fast as he could. He didn’t know how but he managed to leave the building with his legs feeling like jelly and guilt pinching his throat, while heavy and hot tears flowed down his hazel eyes.

 _Sorry, Fred. I fucked everything up. This time, I’ve only got myself to blame,_ Brian thought as he passed near a bunch of teen boys laughing and joking at some random porch, a sound that seemed to follow and haunt Brian, like the echoes of the happier old days.

  
  
  
  



	6. Learning to care for each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's been a while, I know. I faced some health issues. My doctor found that I had a tumor, and it was a bit serious. I went through surgery and that's why I've been away.
> 
> But I'm back and recovered! Thank you for all your support on my tumblr. I really, really appreciate it.
> 
> A big thanks to acr2210 on Tumblr: she read the first raws of this chapter and helped me a lot.  
> Obviously, thanks to Adri and Val, my dear betas.
> 
> And now, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

“I guess that our plan didn’t work, Deacy…” Freddie said looking at the seven tiles resting on his Scrabble rack.

“I guess not. Judging by the faces we saw today, we can say they screwed it up again. I’m not surprised though” John almost muttered while he touched briefly his own letter tiles, thinking of possible combinations.

“It was Brian, dear. That kid is a Rubik cube when it comes to his feelings. Did you see the frightened puppy face and how he was looking at the grumpy ferret during the whole rehearsal? He had the guilt painted all over” Freddie placed his tiles on the board under Deacy’s conscious gaze.

“Give Rog some credit. Maybe it was not _entirely_ his fault this time, but he’s stubborn. And I have no clue about what they are fighting over but knowing Roger it is possible that he was also pretty bolshie about his perspective on this issue, I don’t know. They’re good lads, I wish we could help them a little more… Like a friendly intervention, the four of us?” John frowned and started to think. It was his turn.

Freddie looked at John. Oh, how precious he was. A nice guy with an even nicer heart and, on top of that, an incredible bassist. His fluffy, long and hazelnut brown hair was his only rebellious feature. An intervention… That could lead to a Third World War, no doubt about it. One thing was for sure though, if John and him pulled and intervention, he would insist on hiring a painter to immortalize the moment: the ferret throwing his drums all over the place, a horrified John behind him with his hands towards the ceiling, the poodle running with his curls on the air and him, His Majesty, sitting on the old armchair in their studio, with a crown and a red velvet cape over his shoulders, laughing at them. Just like a Renaissance painting.

Oh, Deacy… Was he ready to know the truth about this May vs. Taylor issue? (Or May OVER Taylor issue, Freddie thought and skipped a mischievous laugh. _Oh, Lord. You’re so bloody funny, Mercury,_ the outrageous brunet thought to himself.

“What? What is so funny? Oh, wait… You’re cheating, aren’t you?” John piped.

“Oh, no, my lovely boy! That’s not it. It’s just that… is it my turn already?”

Deacy let go a deep sigh while nodding his head. Fred and the boys tended to think that he was too naïve for everything and they were totally wrong. John never denied the fact that he preferred not to meet new people and that the harassing of some groupies was honestly a bother to him. It was not fear: he just didn’t know how to act or how to get away from situations of excessive social exposure, so he looked scared when he actually felt uncomfortable.

It was the same with this sort of thing. John could sense that the fight between Rog and Brian was something _really_ serious. And he also felt that whatever the problem was, it absolutely involved some tricky incident that he still couldn’t figure out. At the top of everything, he knew that Fred _knew._ He was just playing dumb and maybe overestimating John’s comprehension. That last thing annoyed John.

“Why, yes. While you were absorbed in some wicked fantasy of yours that I don’t want to know, I played my tiles” John said and crossed his arms. He had learned to read Fred too well by now, and that bastard was for sure laughing about his own monkey business.

Freddie smiled and winked an eye to his friend. An annoyed John reminded him that he was quiet but not absent-minded. Oh, this was going to be even more exciting then, Freddie thought. He looked at the empty letters’ bag and at his rack. His smile grew wider. In the centre of the board John had put the word ‘Friends’. Freddie played all his seven tiles using a letter from that word:

    F

    R

    I

    E

    N

    D

B I S E X U A L

“B-I-S-E-X-U-A-L…” John read slowly and nodded his head “Lucky bastard… You ended the game…”

“You can’t always win, darling”

“It’s ok. I like to let you win from time to time…” John winked and smiled “Bisexual… You don’t hear that word very often…”

“Oh, you will…” Freddie mumbled.

“What did you say?” John asked with a faked innocent voice tone while he was collecting the letter tiles.

“I said ‘Do you want some tea?’ “Freddie said quickly.

“I want you to spill the tea” John whispered.

“Pardon me? Couldn’t hear you, darling” Freddie frowned.

“Oh, I said that I’d love a cup of tea” John nodded with a suspicious smirk.

You heard me perfectly well and so did I, dear. But if you want to play, let’s play, Freddie thought amused. Oh, this was going to be so much fun, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

Roger run his fingers through his hair, touching the back of his head. He could sense a little bump that hurt a bit when the tip of his fingers touched it.

“Wanker” Roger said, though he was alone in the back alley behind their rehearsal room, smoking his twentieth cigarette of the day (and it was only noon). This time he couldn’t stand or stare at Brian during the whole morning. He couldn’t fake it, he couldn’t play ‘the chill guy’. He was unbelievably angry and, contrary to what people would think of him, when he was _extremely_ mad he would shut himself down. He was explosive, of course, but when something really affected him, he would chew on his frustration and wrath in silence, alone.

Brian hit him. And it wasn’t a game: he had wanted to _hurt_ him. He almost choked him, and that thought made Roger smash his cigarette against the wall violently, hurting his knuckles.

“Fuck!” Roger mumbled as he saw the reddish, ripped skin “Oh, great. This is wonderful, isn’t it?” the blond whispered ironically. He licked the wounds on his knuckles and while he tasted his blood’s coppery taste, memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Brian had lost it again and it had been quite frightening. The way he put his hand roughly against Roger’s mouth was far from the way he caressed his lips almost a week ago. Of course, Roger understood the circumstances weren’t the same, but this angry and violent Brian was something that he had not seen before, not even in the most stressful times that they had shared in the past five years.

You didn’t have to be Sherlock to realize what triggered Brian. Still licking his bleeding knuckles, Roger thought that maybe he pushed the poodle to the edge when he insisted about not pretending it didn’t happen. Maybe if Roger had agreed on that, Brian wouldn’t have become Mr Hyde and the hideous choking scene would have never existed.

But that wasn’t and would never ever be a choice for Roger. No matter how confused he was, he couldn’t deny that night and he couldn’t lie to himself. And of course, he couldn’t pretend in front of his best mate. Oh, his best friend… How could it be that after all the drama, Roger was still considering Brian his best lad? The bump at the back of his head didn’t hurt as much as his rejection and his despiteful gaze. Roger sighed, wondering how the hell they could figure all this mess out. He was willing to forgive Brian because he _needed_ him.

Wait. _Need_? The implicit thought of him needing Brian, and the uncomfortable feeling of desire that pinched his guts every bloody time he would recall that night, made Roger cough as if the sound coming from his mistreat lungs could bury the embarrassment of being so conscious about the whole _Poodle gate_.

And as if his troubled thoughts had the power of invocation, the back door opened and there he was: Brian.

_The hysterical poodle arrives_ , Roger thought bitterly.

The brunet was clearly nervous and the long, slim fingers on both his hands interlaced slightly frantically. He noticed the injured knuckles and furrowed his brow.

“Hey, Roger. Everything all right?” he piped, pointing his index finger to Roger’s hands, trying hard not to show how worried he was. Brian would find out years later that faking it and playing _cool_ were out of his social skills, and he would learn that Groucho Marx was right too: _it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt._

Roger’s angry gaze was a not so friendly reminder that his question was abominable nonsense, since he almost choked him last night. The blond experienced in the flesh another undoubted truth manifested by Groucho Marx: _he may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot_.

“Did your mother dropped you when you were a baby, _lad_?” Roger asked sarcastically while he frowned his eyebrows.

“Wha—I don’t— Ah, oh” Brian babbled, and his shamed gaze landed on the floor. It was a stupid question coming from someone who almost choked you and pushed you against a wall. The brunet sighed and tried to talk again “Roger, I don’t---”

He couldn’t finish. The blond passed through, pushing him aside with his right shoulder and stating implicitly that he had no interest in his excuses or whatever.

_Damn¸_ Brian thought, shutting his eyes and contracting his jaw. And once more, he felt hopelessly lost searching for the words that he couldn’t find and that could never be enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“You punched Rog? For real?” Chrissie piped and immediately his eyes went from her book to Brian’s face. They were in the living room of their flat, on their deep purple couch. Chrissie had her legs over Brian’s lap.

“I did not punch him. I pushed him a little too rough and I grabbed him by the collarbone…” Brian distorted the truth and took a sip of his cuppa.

He had to share his frustration with someone. Roger was out of the question, obviously. Fred too: he would yell at him and then kill him, and he would be right: Brian had acted like an idiot. And John…oh, he really didn’t want to drag John even deeper into his drama. And to be honest, he was friends with Deacy, but their intimacy was not quite there yet.

So, Chrissie would have to be the one to listen to him and calm his anxiousness right now. If the problem was different, Rog or Chrissie would have been his options, no doubt about it. But in this situation, asking Chrissie for advice was kind of… cynical, at the less.

“Well, that’s so _not you_ , Brimi” Chrissie said quietly, frowning her eyebrows “I mean, since when you use violence to solve things? And with Roger, for God’s sake, he’s your best friend! What did you fight about?”

Brian choked with his tea and cough a little.

“Oh my, honey. Are you alright?” Chrissie asked concerned, leaning closer to his boyfriend.

Brian dismissed politely her approach and tried to compose himself.

_Oh, Chrissie. I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you the truth. I can’t do this any more horrible for you._

“It’s just… a band thing. It’s about a song and its tempo. You know, he always thinks I’m slow and so… This time we both got pretty intense and I couldn’t handle it” Brian half-lied. It was true: he couldn’t stand the intensity. He was unable to handle the facts and how Roger was determined not to forget that night. He couldn’t bear the mess of his own feelings and once again, he put the blame on Roger. But this time the consequences were more regrettable because of his aggression and that was only making things worse for everyone.

“You should apologize as soon as you can. I know you regret this and I’m sure Roger knows that too, but you _must_ apologize properly. And please, try to chill out a bit. You’ve been pretty tense since the party” Chrissie said, and her right hand reached Brian’s hand on her leg “I’m worried about you, love. I don’t want you to become someone different because you’re stressed… That is not right…”

Brian looked at Chrissie’s face. She was indeed a terrific girl. Maybe she was not the hottest girl around, but that was never a priority for him. Chrissie was a beauty in her own way and that kind of personal, inner beauty was the one Brian was always searching in people, things and experiences. The beauty that could melt and touch his heart. Therefore, the most important thing about Chrissie was her sweetness and how supportive she could be. She was honest and Brian knew that if he was wrong about something, she would tell him.

Chrissie was a little naïve, but she was smart, cute and easy going. Just the girl next door, the one that would give anything for the ones she loved.

_I don’t deserve you at all, Chrissie,_ Brian thought while a sad smile started to grow on his face.

“Don’t worry, Brimi. Everything is going to be alright. You’ll see. It’s Roger. You can’t be apart for too long. You guys are thick as thieves!” Chrissie laughed.

Brian felt a void in his stomach.

_Oh, love. You have no idea,_ he thought sadly as he tried to pretend a laugh that could sound convincing.

 

* * *

 

 

It was already 9 pm and the band had just finished their rehearsal. Several days had passed since the incident in Roger’s flat and now they were all reunited in the small kitchen of their rented studio.

         Roger was sitting messily in an old wooden chair, playing with a broken drumstick while Brian was pretending to make some tea at the stove. John was leaning on the door’s frame with crossed arms and thinking how pathetic the view was when Freddie entered flamboyantly into the room. He looked around, amused. They were not too far from Freddie’s Renaissance paint fantasy, certainly.

“Oh, my. The energy in this room is _overwhelming_. And not in a good way, precisely” Freddie said as he made his way through “And sweet Jesus, why is Brian making tea?”

“Because I thought _maybe_ all of you could enjoy a warm cup of delicious tea?” Brian spouted sarcastically and turned back at Freddie.

“Oh, dear. I love you, I really do, but _delicious tea_ and you just don’t match in the same sentence. Your tea is horrible” Freddie said quickly and pushed Brian softly “I’m doing this for our sake, please. Just sit there, next to Rog”

Brian rolled his eyes and Roger didn’t bother to look up. He heard everything: he was just pretending not to. It was better to play dumb with that crappy broken drumstick than to put up a fight about how badly he wanted that poodle away from him. He was tired, awfully tired of all that crap.

A calm yet jaded voice came from the door’s frame.

“He won’t sit next to Roger. The kids are still fighting, Fred” John said and uncrossed his arms. His suddenly deep tone made even Roger look up.

“You know, I’m really fed up with all this shit. The show at Newcastle was an absolute nightmare. Yes, we sound good and the show was indeed good, but the backstage was a pain in the arse” John stated, visibly annoyed but not enough to lose his temper “I know I’m the youngest, I know I’m the ‘spaced out’, the _naïve_ , the cinnar… cincinnal… roll or something—”

“Cinnamon roll, darling. Cinnamon roll” Freddie corrected him with a wide smile.

“Well, whatever that is. I know you see me as the youngest and I know that I was the last joining this band, but the way I see it, you two fighting and playing dumb will mess everything up. And I’m not going to sit in first row just to see how all the effort we put on Queen goes to hell” John looked into Brian’s eyes and then into Roger’s “I don’t know what the fuck happened between you two but it is time to sort that shit out. I’m done with you, _brats._ We’ll have our very first tour in September and we just can’t let this go all to pot”

Roger coughed and quickly sat straight in the old wooden chair. He felt embarrassed because John was right. They had been working so damn hard for this since Smile, and now a stupid fight between their egos could destroy everything they had achieved until that very moment.

Brian passed his long fingers through his dark curls and let out a sigh. He could sense that Roger’s embarrassment was as intense as the shame he was feeling coming down from his blushed cheeks to his weak knees. He suddenly felt the urge to do something about it, but he just didn’t know _what or how._

Freddie broke the silence while bringing the kettle to the table.

“Our wise man has spoken… and jokes aside, mates” Freddie looked at Roger and Brian seriously “Quit it now. Just put your shit together already”

Brian and Roger didn’t even question John or Fred. They were in the wrong and as much as they’d like to defend themselves, they couldn’t.  They were acting like two angry pests and this issue between them could not last any longer.

Freddie offered a cup of tea to John, who accepted it with a half-smile and a soft _thanks_ , visibly more relaxed now that he had spoken.

“Don’t pour tea for Brian and me. We’re off for drink” Roger said bluntly and stared into Brian’s eyes “Right, mate?”

That _mate_ flooded from his brain to his lips naturally and Brian felt a bit dizzy when at hearing it. That simple word was a tiny yet warm piece of what their relationship had been until that night. _The_ night. It felt like coming back to consciousness after a long time of confusion.

“Yes, right…Uhm, we… we’re off then” Brian answered quickly and walked to the kitchen’s door “Let’s grab our stuff, then.”

Roger nodded and dropped the broken drumstick on the table. He followed Brian’s steps and they both muttered a shy _see ya_ as they passed next to John and Freddie.

 Deacy sat with his cuppa as he watched their friends go through the door. He picked up from the table the broken drumstick.

“Well done, _dad_ ,” Freddie said playfully as he took a sip of his tea and sat on the table, just in front of John.

“Someone had to do it. The sooner, the better” John said with a half-smile.

“True. We cannot fail _now_ , definitely” Freddie said with a sombre tone in his voice.

“Statistically, most bands don’t fail,” John said touching the broken side of the drumstick.

“Then what happens to them?” Freddie asked.

“They break up, Fred” Deacy stated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next... The smut! Don't miss Chapter VII!!
> 
> Thank you for reading and you know I looove to read your comments <3
> 
> If you wanna talk, you can find me here: https://computersaysnot.tumblr.com/


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